Will it never end?

As I noted in a recent post, I have more than 80,000 words written for The Sleep of Reason, and I expect to write at least another 20,000 to finish it. A reasonable fellow would look at that math and see the light at the end of the tunnel. I guess I’m not reasonable.

Another 20,000 words on this novel means at least another couple of months, at least at my plodding pace. I really can’t expect to do more than 5,000 words in a week of effort, and that would be a good week of effort. (Unlike last week, in which I was lucky to get another 100 words added, but that’s a different lament.)

I really like this novel. I’m proud of the story and how well it is revealing itself to me. I enjoy the writing time and feel a bit sad when my sessions come to an end (either because of competing obligations for my time or the exhaustion of my creative muscle). I like the creative work of it, but I’m ready for this novel to end.

I can see what has yet to happen. I know mostly how I’m going to make it happen. I know I have the skill to do it. I just wish it was all done and in the can.

And yes, it will be only the first draft. I already know some of the major reworking I have to do (not with the plot or characters, but with things like tone, depiction of the protagonist’s shifting psychology, and even the passage of the seasons), and none of that wears me down. What is wearing me down is being so close and yet being so far. I want to be done with it. I want to get through these last 20,000 words, yet I’m not there.

I’m suffering some sort of impatience. I realize that and if I were that reasonable fellow I cite in the opening paragraph of this post, that would calm me. But I ain’t that guy.